He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrednt & Liz Tuccillo (Element £6.99, pp240)

Ordinarily, it is not necessary to prove one's credentials as a reviewer. But in this instance, our subject today being self-help books for single girls, here are some facts you may care to know. First, although I am now very happily ensconced in a cohabitation-type situation, I spent several years living alone, and mostly loved it, the blissful tidiness of my bachelorette apartment chiming happily with my control-freak tendencies, its cosy sanctity helping to keep safely at bay a long-held and deep-seated fear that my space was about to be invaded by a huge, ugly stereo (show me a man who does not own a huge, ugly stereo and I will show you the editor of Wallpaper* ).

Second, and this may be more pertinent, when I was in my twenties, I read a book called Women Who Love Too Much, ooh, only about 48 times. In other words, I know all about single life. Sometimes, it is great; sometimes, it is grim. The literature pertaining to it, however, is always terrible (I am not including fiction here, obviously), though women buy it all the same because a) you can't get drunk every night; b) sometimes your friends have better things to do than listen to you droning on; and c) occasionally, one has an inexplicable longing for platitudes.

Even so, once the box of Kleenex is empty, you get to wondering how so much drivel gets published. Most women of my acquaintance are longing to read something witty and sane on the subject of single life. So why do they have to make do with an exhortation to invest in scented candles ('sage is very calming'), a list of daft breathing exercises and a quiz entitled 'How to tell if he's a Keeper or a Weeper?'.

With this in mind, I had high hopes for these two books, whose titles sound so, well, spunky - the literary equivalent of a purposeful stride on a kitten heel. Live Alone and Like It by Marjorie Hillis, a writer for American Vogue, was first published in 1936 and intended to be a vade mecum for a new generation of independent gals whose careers - or doomy love lives - had led them to live alone in New York. He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo, writers on Sex and the City, was first published in the US in 2004 and was intended to be a breezy antidote to game-playing dating guides such as The Rules, with special insights straight from the elusive male psyche. Thirties kitsch plus a handful of Carrie Bradshaw-style one-liners - what a great night in.

Miss Hillis does not disappoint, though hers is the kind of book I would rather have found in a dusty junk shop than have thrust on me by the clever marketing people at Virago (it loses something in its eager new incarnation). The best way to read it, I think, is in bed, wearing pyjamas and eating rose creams. It celebrates single life, but acknowledges that, in order to enjoy it, a girl must make an effort. 'Keep a mirror hanging opposite the foot of your bed, so that you can see yourself when you sit up,' instructs Hillis. 'This is sometimes depressing, but it acts as a prompter when you feel yourself slipping.'

The point is: 'You can live alone gaily, graciously, ostentatiously, dully, stolidly. Or you can just exist in sullen loneliness, feeling sorry for yourself and arousing no feeling whatever in anybody else.' The single girl must know how to shake a cocktail, rustle up a decent macaroni cheese and get rid of late-staying gentleman callers (simply offer to fetch him a glass of water and then remain standing until he takes the hint). What she should never do is mope.

He's Just Not That Into You is an altogether less refined affair, not least because it assumes, rightly, but depressingly, that no amount of macaroni cheese will make up for the fact you are single and that loneliness leads women to put up with men's lies. The authors came up with their brilliant idea during a writers' meeting for Sex and the City. One of the women present was describing how her current beau was giving her mixed messages. 'He's scared,' said the others. 'Give him time.' Then Greg piped up: 'Sounds like he's just not that into you.'

At this point, a 'collective epiphany burst forth'. Far from finding this news demoralising, the girls found it liberating. Accepting that a man is 'just not that into you' means no more sitting by the phone; no more cancelling evenings out on the off-chance he will be free, and definitely no more making excuses for him when he dishes out lines like: 'I have a problem with intimacy'.

Personally, I am just not that into He's Just Not That Into You. It's a single phrase stretched into 200-page book. He says he's afraid to get hurt? Actually, he's just not that into you. He's madly busy at work? No, he's just not that into you. He's too tired for sex? Get with the programme, honey. Soon, you begin to wonder whether it is worth bothering with men at all. Suppose your lover says he's going to the football on Saturday.

On the surface of things, this is just another sign of his Y chromosome. Then again, perhaps he is just not that into you. After all, he could be giving you a foot rub. Read Hillis and Behrendt together and you will feel very confused (this is the pernicious thing about self-help books - you know they are baloney, but still they have their daffy way with you). Every time your man looks preoccupied, you'll find yourself trying to remember how to mix an Old Fashioned, just in case.